


(No) Ill Intentions

by catherineisa



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineisa/pseuds/catherineisa
Summary: Loyalty and honesty are hard to come by. Luckily for Raymond Reddington, Donald Ressler is both.
Relationships: Aram Mojtabai/Samar Navabi, Raymond Reddington & Donald Ressler, Raymond Reddington/Donald Ressler, because i love them - Relationship, mentioned
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/user/catherineisablank/playlist/7rjaDQHZSXv3mnvlwDpEsh

The man on the train is staring at him. He tries desperately not to make eye contact but finds himself glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye. The man is obviously well off, he’s dressed to the nines in an expensive suit. The suit is a dark red with very dark stripes that almost go unnoticed if not for the careful attention he’s paying the man. 

He gets off the train before his stop and the man is following him. His hand goes towards his gun, but he stops himself, he can’t have the FBI pulling out a complaint against him for police brutality.

The man comes closer and Ressler stops dead. He hopes it’ll make the man think longer about approaching him, but it doesn’t. His face has a cloying familiarity. The man stops in front of him and holds out his hand. In his hand is a folded paper, without thinking he takes the paper and hurries away from the man, who just turns the other direction and walks quickly away.

He pulls himself up the stairs, breathing heavily. He shoves the note in his pocket before making sure he’s not followed to work on his first day.

“His work is exemplary. He’s shown time and time again that he can handle the stress of the job. He’s proven his ability to adapt.” Assistant Director Harold Cooper has started a briefing, about him. He’s trying to show interest, but the statements just prove to make him squirm. He zones out a bit and finally remembers the mornings odd encounter. He pulls out the paper, complimentary hotel letterhead will probably go nowhere.

> Hello, Agent Ressler. We’ve never met but I’m very familiar with your career, you’re the one that caught “The Night Terror” and that was very good work.
> 
> I need your help.
> 
> A man referred to only as Berlin, he’s made it his mission to come after me for reasons unknown. I’ve come to know that you can’t be bought, that’s very important Donald. Loyalty and Honesty are hard to come by. 
> 
> -Raymond Reddington

He closes his eyes and tries to remember the mans face. He was an older man, handsome but tired looking.

He opened his eyes and brought out his notebook. He’d always liked that it had no lines on the backs of each page, he could alternate between writing and doodles. He tries to draw out what he could maybe remember about the man. He started with a broad outline and then tightened it up to a probable match. 

**Can never say definite because that gets you in trouble. It’s an approximation, always.**

He sketches the eyeline and notes that the man has a pretty symmetrical face. The man had lighter blonde hair, shoulder length and glasses thinner horned rim frames, black. He’d had bags under his eyes not too deep but definitely noticeable. The sketch is almost complete but he’s interrupted too soon.

A tap on the shoulder from one of the senior agents, Forster maybe?

“Hey space cadet, you going to draw the rest of the FBI’s most wanted list or just #1?” 

He looks at him dazed and the man continues.

“I’ll give you props, for sure. It definitely looks like Raymond Reddington, except with hair.”

He lets out a loud laugh and it startles Ressler.

“Uh, yeah. I was bored, why not draw criminals?” The man nearly howls with laughter. He hopes he’ll never have to see him again after this meeting.

“Well, see ya around boy scout.” He claps him hard on the shoulder and Ressler winces.

Of all the people who could’ve asked him for help and it’s a criminal. It’s just his luck.

He takes his time walking through the building stopping slightly before the tack board of ‘Most Wanted’ criminals. He grows more frustrated with himself realizing that the man is among them, and more so that he’s number one.

He studies the poster carefully. 

> Birthdate: February 7th, 1960 Height: 5’10 Eyes: Green
> 
> **_ Caution _ **
> 
> Raymond Reddington, a former member of U.S. military and intelligence is wanted for a series of crimes against the government at home and abroad.
> 
> **_ Considered armed and extremely dangerous. _ **

He tries not to spend too much time looking at the one poster so he looks at each one with equal precision and care. None of them are as interesting as the first. The assistant director exits from a side door and before he knows it he’s jumped in front of him. “Assistant Director Cooper? Agent Donald Ressler. I know you know who I am but not formally.” The AD nods quietly. “I was wondering if you had my next assignment. They said you would.” He trails off, it’s not untrue but it’s not particularly a whole truth.

Cooper nods again and opens his briefcase. He pulls out a case file and hands it to Ressler. “I don’t know who you pleased or pissed off, but.” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but the sentiment isn’t a criticism, just an incomplete observation. “What is it?” Cooper chuckles. “It’s a contract killer, presumed dead in 1991. Someone thinks he’s not dead and thinks that you can track him. There’s supplemental files in here.” He hands a thick file over to Ressler.

“Have you read it? Do you know who it is? Or why they picked me?” Ressler’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“I haven’t looked in the file, no. But the man that gave me the file was a secretary and said that it could be The Gallery Killer. I haven’t been briefed.” He motions that he’s about to leave but Ressler’s too engrossed in the file.

He situates himself on a concrete bench just outside the building and opens the file. It’s full to the brim, but it’s all hearsay.

It turns out that the file has nothing to do with ‘The Gallery Killer’ but someone much worse. A man known only as The Ghost. When the wall fell, he was imprisoned, he apparently, he’d cut through his restraints with a sharpened stone, partially through his own wrist. Donald shudders and feels himself go cold. If this man is alive, then the FBI has overlooked or misattributed some very grisly murders.

He feels nauseas as he walks home. He doesn’t know who set him onto this case, or who told them to, but he has the distinct feeling that something very bad is happening. To him it feels like the beginning of an end.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing when he gets to the new task force office is sign for 243 bankers boxes of flagged files.

“These are the hard copies, there’ll be more later.” 

As soon as the man disappears around the corner his head thunks down on the desk, and he groans. He decides that the best course of action is to establish a timeline before digging into the files too heavily. He orders the files in piles by year against the wall, in order of severity and possibility. When his back is turned to the wall, he hears a quiet knock on the door and he spins, knocking over several of his carefully curated piles. His eyes close and he makes a pained expression before opening them again to greet the man. The man in the door looks to mid-thirties, holding several laptops and another bankers box. The expression on his face gives Ressler the impression that he might bolt at any time.

“I’m agent Mojtabai. I was assigned to work with you.” Agent Mojtabai hoists the box and the laptops up on his hip, nearly dropping them completely.

“They haven’t briefed me on anything having to do with this task force or my new case. Except for a hefty case file.”

Ressler’s voice betrays his frustration. It seems to make Agent Mojtabai more uncomfortable.

“What’s your first name? Agent Mojtabai?” The man comes through the doorway and sets his stuff on a nearby table.

“Aram, Aram Mojtabai.”

Ressler sets the mess of case files into their piles carefully and walks over to the man. He glances not to subtly towards the door, which he’s left open. Ressler holds his hand out for a handshake, arm’s length, professional, just like they taught at the seminar. Aram grasps his hand after a moment.

“Donald Ressler.”

He quickly briefs Aram on what little he knows. The case file, the mysterious killer, and the even more mysterious person who gave him the case. He neglects to mention Raymond Reddington.

They find themselves sitting on the floor, for lack of chairs.

After he’s done combing through the files for dates, he starts to investigate the bulk of the information in the files. Things so gruesome they make him want to spew chunks into the nearest trashcan. He decides after the fifteenth dismemberment he needs a break.

* * *

“So, Aram. What did you do before this?”

“Oh. I worked for the NSA for fourteen years. Director Cooper said that I was being put here for my “Diverse Skill Set” I’m still not quite sure what that could mean.” He puts very hammy air quotes on the phrase. “What about you?”

Donald shrugs. “Not much to tell. I’ve been working for the FBI for two years; this is my first assignment like this. Not quite sure why I was picked for it though.” He feels like he’s filling out a questionnaire and they’ve asked him what his positive traits are. He blanks.

Aram doesn’t seem to notice though. He’s not even looking at Ressler anymore, he’s too busy pawing through a pile of papers on the floor. Suddenly he jolts. The sudden movement is enough to make Ressler fly back, hitting his head on the desk behind him.

_Why couldn’t they put chairs?_

“Hey. Agent Ressler? This is for you.” He hands him a thick letter sized envelope, with his name in some kind of handwritten cursive print on the front. The envelope not only looks like it’s packed with papers, but it feels like it has a substantial weight. “Where was it?”

Aram checks the label on the box. “Cases R” Ressler bites back a bitter laugh. Whoever placed it there must have a sense of humor.

He tears into the envelope carefully, so as not to tear any of its contents. On top inside is a letter, with a more laid-back version of the handwriting on the envelope. If it can even be described that way.

* * *

> * * *
> 
> _Dear Donald,_
> 
>  _I’ll hope this letter has reached you without interference. Within this envelope is a series of names and numbers of cases that are either rumored or confirmed kills of The Ghost. I initiated our encounter on the train because I knew that you could be trusted. That you will not be bought, the incident on the train was not meant to cause fear in you but I didn’t see any other way to approach you. I realize that even now you must be wary of me. I fully intend to earn your trust and confidence. Enclosed in a smaller envelope within this one is a flash drive with information regarding your father’s death. I had one of my colleagues compile it as I’m not one for technology. Best of luck to you in the hunt (Hmm is that not the right word? Wild goose chase feels wrong too. I’ll figure it out.)_
> 
>  _Regards, Raymond Reddington_
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *

He dumps the envelope on the nearest clear surface. There are about fifteen papers in it and the described smaller envelope. He doesn’t even open it before shoving it in his pocket. He can deal with it later. Aram pulls himself off the floor with the support of a nearby table, positioning himself so he could see the papers. He folds the letter in half and shoves that in his pocket too, before arranging the papers in a sensible order, well as sensible as he can pawing around in the dark.

The papers are a list of cases, names and dates with possible connections to The Ghost. All of the memos are written on different hotel papers; No two the same.

They combine dates and messages as well as dates and times. Some of the entries are marked with an asterisk labelled ‘unconfirmed’ along with possible days or months that the killer could have feasibly been around.

“Do you have an informant or something?” Aram is glancing from him to the paper. Ressler had to think for a moment, before he bit out. “Honestly, I have no earthly idea.” He shakes his head and turns back to the papers skewed over the tabletop.

Aram hums lightly to himself. “A guardian angel, maybe?”

Ressler shake his head. “Somehow, I fear it’s something much more sinister.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ressler takes his break early that afternoon and Aram all but shoves him out the door. “After all of this, you need a break.” He can’t help but agree. He makes his way to the elevator and finds himself in the record room. He sits down at one of the older computer terminals. He pulls the drive from his pocket and tries to plug it into the computer, having to flip it first. He rolls his eyes, every time. The drive is simply named ‘Donald’. He attempts to open the partition but finds that it’s locked. He almost gives up and ejects it but a light turns on in his brain and he has it (Possibly.) He opens the password box and types simply ‘Ressler’ capitalized and simple praying to any deity that it might work. Remarkably it does. There are five folders, labelled by year.

1978

1985

1987

1989

1992

He combs through each year and finds files upon files of names of police officers and cases that seem to be botched by coincidence on their own but altogether paint a picture of police corruption. He can’t handle the avalanche of emotion and ejects the drive. He all but runs back to the designated office. Aram hasn’t seemed to have moved but there’s a woman sitting across from him. Middle eastern descent if Ressler had to guess.

“New person?”

Aram shakes his head. The woman stands up as sizes him up. “No. Umm she’s my girlfriend.” The woman stretches out her hand. He puts his up to shake.

“Samar Navabi. Mossad.”

“What’s Mossad doing here? Nevermind, probably classified.”

He pulls the flash drive from his pocket and shoves it in his top middle desk drawer. Samar and Aram keep talking about whatever, but Ressler has continued to pull files from the reference sheets.

He can’t stop now he’s too far gone already.

~~Your father was killed by cops.~~

> _He was a good man._

~~He was killed by people he should’ve trusted.~~

He glances warily towards Aram and Navabi. He shakes it out of his head.

> _That’s not going to happen here, don’t be paranoid._

He pulls the murders and notices something odd about several of them. There’s an address sticky tacked to three of them. An address for a restaurant. He grabs the sticky, separates the file and grabs his coat.

Aram goes to stand up, but Ressler puts his hand up to stop him. “Might have a lead. You stay here.” He makes eye contact with Navabi. “Don’t know how long you’ll have to talk to her.” Aram nods and Samar smiles lightly, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

They’ve turned back to their conversation; He grabs the flash drive and his overcoat and rushes out the door. He doesn’t quite know what he’s heading into and he almost wishes he’d let Aram come with him. Almost.

He bumps into just about everyone on the way out of the building. He needs to remind himself not to speed on the way there because there’s no immediate emergency. He’d always had a lead foot though.

He gets to the restaurant fairly quickly, going one under the speed limit. It’s an old diner, well worn in, well loved. He doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for. He seats himself towards the back of the restaurant, there are posters and framed photos all but thrown onto the wall. He takes the moment to survey them and finds that several of them are oddly familiar. He can’t dwell on it too much before someone approaches him. He spots them out of the corner of his eye. At first, he thinks it’s the waitress to take his order, but the figure takes of their hat and sets it on the table. Sitting down the man pushes the hat to the wall before clasping their hands together.

“So Donald we meet at last.” It’s the man from the train. This time he has the time to survey his features and finds that his own drawing of the man is not far off at all. He also notes that the familiar face on the wall is his.

The man, Raymond Reddington is staring at him expectantly. All of the bravado he usual carries on his shoulders has slunk down to the floor and he can’t help but feel nervous. Reddington’s tongue makes its way around the roof of his mouth.

“You.” It’s not the best first thing to say and it seems to amuse Reddington. “Yes. Me.”

“You gave me the files and the drive. Why?”

Reddington tilts his head to the side before answering, not so much trying to hear but trying to find the words. “I told you. Someone has come after me.” Ressler senses that it’s not the whole truth.

> _Why would it be?_

The waitress does come over this time and Reddington orders for him. “Two big egg and cheese breakfast, one double egg, one double cheese.”

> _Of course, the dangerous criminal knows what I would order for breakfast._

They sit in silence for a couple minutes before Reddington pipes up, shattering it.

“Did you happen to get my second letter?” Ressler nods silently messing with a salt packet, causing it to spill on the table. The waitress comes over with their order and gives him a disdainful look. Her derision fades when she sets down the platters and sees the almost fuming look on the criminal’s face. She makes quick work of getting away, grabbing a ketchup bottle from another table and darting.

“What was that? Also do you have mine?” Reddington switches the plates wordlessly, putting the ketchup closer to Ressler.

“I won’t allow anyone to show disrespect to any of my contemporaries, not unless they do something to get on my nerves.”

Ressler’s trying to be respectful himself, but he hadn’t quite realized how hungry he was. Late start and immediate meeting, plus the train incident. He hasn’t eaten more than a rice cake (Which he doesn’t think can be considered food.)

He’s stuffing his face, and oddly Reddington is looking at him fondly.

“What am I doing here? What’s with all of the pictures?” Reddington glances at the wall. “I ahh helped the owner about twenty years ago and he’s sure that it’s an honor for me to have pictures hanging here. A way to honor me.” Ressler’s brow furrows.

> _You’d figure that the number one most wanted man would like to have his picture hanging around_

Reddington misunderstands ~~or ignores~~ the true meaning of the gesture. “Yeah, I don’t get it either.” He glances wearily at the wall. “That has nothing to do with why we’re here though.”

Ressler stops eating for a moment. “It’s not? Of course it’s not.” He curses himself and piles some cheese on a stray egg.

“The ghost has connections here. It’s how he gets his contracts. I floated an anonymous tip or two to the detectives and agents that previously worked the case. None of them so much as walked in.” Reddington eats part of his egg, dipping the cooked white into the runny yolk and some jam. He’s careful not to talk with his mouth full, they both are.

“How do you know?” He twirls his fork.

“It’s mostly hearsay but picking the bones gets you a lot.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s not stupid, he can probably guess but he doesn’t like the way Reddington’s phrased it.

“The so-called ghost comes here to order his hits, literally.”

More ketchup, Reddington turns his nose up.

“He comes in every once in a while, and orders something not on the menu. They give him a menu with a picture in it and he thanks them.”

“Someone orders a hit and he orders the picture?” Reddington nods emphatically, mouth chewing around an egg.

Reddington pays before he can even get his wallet out of his p

ocket.


	4. Chapter 4

When he gets back to the office, he’s weighed down by the knowledge he’s been given (and the food).

He tells Aram that when he got to the address he was met by an informant, but not what happened or why.

“Your guardian angel. No sorry, sinister stranger.” Ressler gives him a strange look but then realizes and nods simply.

He relates most of the story, sans breakfast and the pictures on the wall. He wonders out loud about what the man wants from him. Aram just listens, Ressler can admit that it’s pretty nice. ~~He doesn’t like admitting that maybe therapy is an option.~~

He tells a judge what he has so far, and surprisingly they get a warrant for security footage from the past several months.

Combing through the surveillance copies is excruciating. It takes about three hours for them to find substantial. Thirty more minutes to find a repeat. A man walks to the bar, speaks shortly with the bartender and the bartender looks like he’s apologizing for something and then reaches under the bar for what looks like a menu, the man doesn’t even look at it before leaving. Then several days later a man with nearly the same appearance does the same thing, a new menu.

Aram nearly shouts, grabbing him by the shoulder, he nearly falls out of his chair.

They cut the photo and run it through possible databases returning no matches. The game now is to wait and see.

Donald Ressler is forced to stop and think about the day’s events.

The train. The letter.

_Why would a man like Raymond Reddington ask him for help? Why was he giving a man like Reddington the time of day?_

The next letter. The flash drive.

_Why wasn’t he reporting it to his superiors? Does he really think that Reddington might help him catch the men who killed his father?_

The diner. The breakfast.

_Was Reddington plying him for something? Would he be the patsy? Then again why would the man approach him at all? Him specifically?_

The seventeen minutes it takes to find the first possible match are excruciating. Aram’s nervous excitement is more annoying than endearing at the moment and he can’t help but notice he has to pee. He very awkwardly communicates this to the other man. As soon as he exits into the hallway he tries to stall as much as he can in getting there and back. He gets to the bathroom and does his business. While he’s washing his hands, he looks in the mirror to notice that Reddington is standing behind him.

“I was wondering when you’d leave that office. Was thinking of pulling the fire alarm. I’m kind of disappointed I didn’t get to.” He hums to himself. “Your security systems are surprisingly antiquated.” He gestures with a pair of glasses. Ressler just stares at him, hollow. He puts them on, and Ressler gets it, the facial recognition. The glasses are so thick that they distort the man’s eyes to a cartoonish degree. Ressler can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he dries his hands, it could be described as a giggle and he’s lucky there’s no one else to witness it. He turns and leans on the counter, putting his just washed hands on it. (Probably not the best idea)

He’s facing Reddington directly now and Reddington puts the glasses in his front pocket. The first thing he notices is that Reddington isn’t wearing the same suit, it’s a heavily dialed back version of the mornings outfit, more akin to something Donald would wear, he doesn’t take long to dwell on it.

“Why are you here?” Ressler’s voice is flat. As if he has no emotional stake in the situation. Reddington feigns hurt.

“I snuck my way into a government building for you. Just to bring you a name and this is how you respond?”

“I’m hurt.”

Ressler rolls his eyes.

Reddington gives him the name and puts on the glasses before leaving, bowing slightly first. It’s idiotic and Ressler hopes he never does it again.

Aram gives him an indescribable look when he returns and Ressler fumbles. “I leaned on the counter, got my shirt wet.” Aram winces. “Oh man I hate that. I’ve taken to wiping it first, things never dry. Sorry man.”

He leaves it at that, and Ressler’s relief is palpable.

He takes his phone out of the drawer and checks it, pretending he got a text. He knows it’s juvenile but it’s better than explaining that he’s playing footsie with a notorious criminal. He regrets not asking the man about his true intentions.

“I got a name, a Solomon Rhodes.”

“From your source? Wow that’s fortunate.” Ressler gives him a side glance gauging the statement, but it doesn’t seem to be anything but relief.

They try to find a way to track the man, finding aliases and possible locations he’d be hiding. Ressler takes the extra time to take page out of Reddington’s book, He writes the man a letter. All the things he was too afraid to ask.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_Reddington,_

_I hope this is the right decision; Probably not, but as far as right now, I don’t care. I need to know some things. How did you know those cops were dirty? ~~The records you had were things that only someone who was there would know.~~_

_Why me? Did you think I could be manipulated? Or just an easy target. I can admit that I stalled on asking you and now I don’t know when I’ll see you again ~~or if.~~ I’m trying to assume that you’re telling the truth and doing a good thing in helping me catch this man. Whatever intentions you have for or against me, you need to make them clear. I think you need to prove to me that you aren’t just bribing me with information. I’ll be forced to report you to my superiors if you don’t. _

_You said that someone was coming after you. How would catching this killer even help you? There isn’t any sane reason for you to have slipped into the FBI building, unless you were just trying to prove a point. So what is it? Are you just fucking with my head? Is it a game to you? At first, I was grateful for the help, but now I’m not so sure._

_I’m trying to be civil. Without proof though I’m not sure how much longer I can be._

* * *

He drives down to the diner later on, after Aram has gotten information on the suspect and has gone on to get a warrant. He’s unsure how well his point might get across in the letter, but he can’t afford to falter. He needs to know.

The owner greets him with a hug. He tries not to seem confused, the owner kisses him on both of his cheeks. “Any friend of Raymond is a friend of mine. Of anyone here. Mwah” He gives the man a tight smile trying not to be rude. He pulls the letter out of his inside breast pocket. “If you see him could you.. Give this to him?” The man nods emphatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter. I'm sorry. I hope the writers block clears up soon.  
> You'd think that being stuck inside until "at least" May would be conducive to writing.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s four days later and he’s forgotten about the letter. After worrying for an unsocial amount of time about his complacency in Reddington’s possible crimes.

He’s drawing files together on a background for supplemental agents helping with the case. Luckily for him none, of them are the “ask a lot of questions” type.

He’s across the room when his phone buzzes itself nearly off the table. Aram ends up being the one to save it from a mercy kill. He hands it over before dropping the files in the box and heading towards the door. “Nick’s pizza? Haven’t heard of them. Hmm.”

Ressler furrows his brow in confusion. Looking at the screen, the text is hidden but he’s trying to think of when he ever signed up for pizza perks.

“Maybe I signed up for coupons from LifePerks or ValuPak.” He’s shaking his head in confusion. He doesn’t quite think about it much after that, shoving the phone in his pocket.

It’s about twenty minutes before Ressler decides he needs a break. Desperately.

He pulls the phone out of his pocket and weeds through his notifications. Twitter. Tumblr. Instagram. Texts.

Two texts from an HR person about an investigation about Julian’s brutality charge. He could have seen that coming years ahead. The text from ‘Nick’s Pizza’ remains unopened for a moment and Donald laughs fraughtly at his own apprehension and opens it before he can coward out again.

“Pepperoni special Tuesday at four to four thirty original location RR”

He crinkles his brow at the oddness of the message. He nearly vomits at the realization that dawns on him. He quickly darts his eyes towards the clock. 3:32. He grabs a stack of sticky notes from Aram’s desk and scrawls a message.

“Figured I’d try Nick’s. Needed a break. Be back later.”

He doesn’t even bother grabbing his coat as he jets out the door. It takes him getting in the car to realize that he still has the pen from Aram’s desk. He swallows a bit of guilt and shoves it in his pocket. He drives to the diner to find a closed sign in the door. He has half a mind to leave. 3:57. He decides to stay. He can’t reason with himself on why. For the case.

**_Sure_ **

He stands in the windy street and feels his hair stand on end and his nose chill. He doesn’t wrap his arms around himself. Figures someone might be watching.

He looks in the window and sees an unmistakable figure walking towards the panes of glass. “Welcome Donald. I wasn’t quite sure that my message would be deciphered in time, or at all.” His skin bristles and this time it isn’t the windchill. He doesn’t like the implication. He’s not stupid. He grumbles and kicks a stone on his way in the building. The diner is empty this time except for four men, mid thirties muscle bound with grayish hair. They all look about the same to him.

They’re moving the furniture and cleaning counters and surfaces. It all feels a bit ominous but as soon as he glances in the direction of Reddington the feeling seems to float off him. The man is smiling and laughing deeply, hand pressed into his chest, as if to contain the laughter. He notices Donald looking at him ~~read staring.~~

There’s no way to avoid him at this point, he’s making his way over. He steers him by the arm towards the back of the room, he feels like he has no choice but to walk with him. He feels like even in that moment if he wasn’t being corralled, he would probably follow anyway. There’s a presence around the man; Something that scares you shitless but also comforts you. Tears down your defenses and leaves you standing under a spotlight.

He tries to stop thinking about it.

**_Tries._ **

“We needed to close to smoke the man out, and I figure a remodel is a valid reason. What about you?”

"Yeah. Sure. I guess." He looks around, taking in the new room. Everything seems to have changed.

He chuckles broadly, arms spread in a jovial manner. The room seems to still and Donald looks over his shoulder. He feels the chill in the air again as the door opens.


	7. Chapter 7

The chill returns as he looks toward the door. A man he vaguely recognizes comes in the door and Reddington moves to the front of the restaurant.

“Excuse me sir. This restaurant is closed for the time being.” His voice oozes charm, there’s an edge under it as well though. Donald can’t quite place it, but it crawls under his skin.

The man doesn’t seem to react. He barely moves.

There’s a quiet shift in the room as several clicks are heard. The gun holsters of several bulky brauns are heard even at the back of the room where Ressler is standing.

The man stomps out a cigarette that Ressler didn’t even notice he’d had. He stomps it out on the linoleum and Ressler can see the damage; even standing across the room.

Nobody moves until Reddington does. He steps closer to the man, Brauns inching closer.

“Heard you were looking for me?”

Recognition flashes in Reddington’s face and he immediately grasps at the gun on the back of his belt. Within about thirty seconds Reddington has the safety off and pointed at the Ghost. “All this for little old me?” He lights another cigarette and drags it hard. He flicks it away again and before Ressler knows it, Ghost has his gun drawn and three of the brauns are laying on the ground bleeding heavily. Reddington has shot the man in the leg and it throws him off kilter, pinstriped pants ripped from the impact of the bullet. He winces, hissing and refocuses his aim.

This time on Ressler.

He curses himself for leaving his sidearm at the office.

Ressler ducks out but not fast enough. Before he knows it he’s got a bullet in the shoulder. The blowback from the impact is enough to make his eyes water and he screams. He can visualize the muscles tearing around the bullet. The searing pain paired with the impact is almost enough to knock him over, but he rights himself leaning heavily on the counter. The second bullet he’s not prepared for and this time it hits him in the side he feels it slash through him and hears it hit the marble countertop. A few seconds later and he’s no longer level with it and he’s falling. His head knocks the marble on his way down on he’s laying on his side.

His eyes are blurry, and he feels water fall down the side of his face. He can see Reddington empty his clip in the general vicinity of the man. He throws it aside and decides to try to physically fight the man. It doesn’t quite work out for him and he catches a bullet in the leg. Luckily for him it’s the last bullet in the other man’s gun.

He can feel his own blood puddle reach the place where his arm is laying on the ground. He’s splayed on his side, he doesn’t want to watch the fight but he doesn’t seem to have the control to close his eyes anymore and he can’t move so he quietly resigns and hopes that death comes quickly.

**_~~He’s never that lucky.~~ _ **

**__ **

**__ **

He can’t remember where he is at minute five.

Minute six. He forgets who the men in the room are.

Seven. The man’s name.

Eight. Why are the lights so bright?

Nine. Hmm quiet.

Ten. He thinks he can finally close his eyes. He closes them, breathing raggedly.


	8. Chapter 8

Donald Ressler.

He knows that. His name.

There’s a man hovering over him. He’s being stitched up by a taller heavyset man in his fifties with magnifying bifocals.

“Do you know who you are?” The other man’s voice is comforting. It takes him by surprise. The tense muscles relax a bit. The doctor is silent. Unaffected by anything happening.

“Partly.” He remembers his dad’s death, his time at the academy. Not why he’s splayed out on the floor of a midtown diner.

“Do you know who I am?” The voice is a bit hopeful. Oddly overreaching.

“No.” The answer is cautious. He can’t help but kind of broach it sensitively.

“Hmm. What do you remember?” He tries his hardest to grasp at the colored bendy straws of his memory, but they all seem to be melted together.

“I was on a case. I,” He sinks back into the chair he’s propped up on, mostly numb but he feels sharp glass like pains in his side.

He immediately stopped by both the doctor and the dapper man.

“I’m Raymond Reddington.”

He tries to recall something, anything about the man but he comes up empty.

“I’m Donald Ressler.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying his own name when the other man probably knows it, but it feels significant.

He raises his arm ever so slightly as if to shake and the man grasps it, making a conscious effort not to jolt him.

“Nice to meet you. I guess.”

Raymond Reddington smiles, and he can’t help but feel like something big has happened.

_~~Good or bad? He has no idea.~~ _

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/user/catherineisablank/playlist/7rjaDQHZSXv3mnvlwDpEsh


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